Mark gets bitten
by Lieju
Summary: A Peep show fanfic. All Mark ever wanted was to have a normal life. Unfortunately for him, it seems the universe is conspiring against him, and after one small mistake his life permanently plunges into the bizarre.
1. A certain pattern of dogkilling

**I originally wrote this just to amuse myself, and with no intention of ever submitting it anywhere. But since it turned out as a proper story, and there's not too much of Peep Show fanfiction around, well, here it is.**

**The main premise is something that would never happen in the actual show, but I'll try to keep it Peep-showy in the treatment of the subject matter. **

**Also, for the timeline, this takes place somewhere around the early part of Season 5; the wedding is over and Mark has met Dobby, but Sophie isn't pregnant yet.**

**And thanks for RaaxtheIceWarrior for proofreading.  
**

* * *

Jeremy could, usually, tell when there was something wrong with Mark. Eventually, anyway.

But lately he had been busy with _important_ things. Music. That was the thing, His thing. Something that didn't involve Mark.

Except in a whining-capacity, bringing everyone down.

With his _realism._

Which is why Jeremy only now noticed that he had been spending quite a lot of time with Super-Hans lately, and couldn't even remember the last time he had had a conversation with his flat-mate. Maybe that's why the music had been going so well for him. Or it would go well soon. That friend of a friend of Super-Hans' had practically promised to get them a proper gig.

Actually, now that he thought about it, he had seen Mark, but Mark had clearly been avoiding him, something that would have normally made Jeremy follow him, if just because Mark thought he would find better company somewhere.

Also, someone from the office had called several times, asking why Mark hadn't been coming to work. In hindsight, Jeremy guessed that sort of was a clue something was wrong.

That, and how no one had gone shopping for about a week now. The contents of the fridge were starting to look gone. You could live on beer only for so long. Eventually you needed crisps.

Jeremy supposed that was something he could ask his flat-mate.

At this rate he would have to go shopping, although wasn't it overcoming obstacles just like that that gave an artist their inspiration to do great work?

After noticing that the door to Mark's room was locked, (which was very odd indeed, since when had Mark had _privacy_?) he resulted to knocking.

"Hello?"

No response.

This time he kicked the door.

"Mark? I know you are there."

No response.

"Fine, ignore me. It's not like I had anything to say to you, anyway!"

Fine, let him be.

He'd come out eventually. Right?

* * *

Jeremy woke to the darkness. He was vaguely aware that he had heard something.

He lay still, listening. Yes, someone was moving about the flat. Probably burglars. It couldn't be Mark, could it? He wouldn't go roaming about the night. Not alone, anyway, he'd ask him to go with him to stalk Sophie or do some weird midnight-history-thing or whatever reason would get him go out middle of the night. He must have been with someone else. Who had he been stalking with? Mark had refused _his _suggestions for wreaking havoc on Sophie's life.

He could see light coming from the hall and hear water running. Yeah, it was definitely Mark. Or some mental burglar who broke into people's houses to wash up. Maybe that's what Mark had been doing. Maybe all the stress from the marriage had finally got to him. Mark should have just gone with his plan. Let the steam out a bit.

Just in case, Jeremy pulled his pyjama bottoms on. In case it was a mental burglar. You could probably scare a normal burglar with some unwanted nudity (yeah, in his hands, nudity was a weapon. It was weaponized nudity), but if it was a maniac, that would probably just turn them on.

To his surprise, the hall was dark, and only the small light in the toilet was on. Few months ago the light in the toilet had gone out, and neither one of them had got around to changing it, so eventually they had just put a table-lamp in there.

However, it had been Mark who had eventually relented (Jeremy counted that as a win) and bought a new light bulb for the ceiling light. Why would he be using the smaller light now?

Quietly, Jeremy peeked in.

There was a certain amount of relief when he saw the figure hunched over the sink, and recognised it as familiar. But it was quickly replaced with puzzlement and alarm.

"Mark? Is that blood?"

This startled the other man, who turned quickly.

"Jez! Go away!"

Normally this kind of behaviour would have been a certain source of amusement for Jeremy.

But there was genuine panic in Mark's voice, and since Jeremy remembered the cutting-incident, he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of dread for his friend. Who had been sneaking about middle of the night. And now was washing blood out of his face. He didn't exactly remember _what _had caused the cutting-incident back then, but it had probably had something to do with Sophie, and if things with Sophie were even worse now...

"It's not human!" Mark protested, "It was a dog! And I didn't mean to! Go away!"

Decidedly ignoring this, Jeremy decided this had gone on long enough, and turned on the light.

What he wasn't expecting was the scream of pain from his mate, who recoiled back and fell in a heap on the floor, shielding his eyes.

Jeremy startled, but stood his ground, watching Mark unsteadily pulling himself up and sitting on the toilet.

Jeremy tried to think of a way to start unravelling this weirdness. The blood. That was a good place to start.

"Why do you have dog's blood on you?"

Now that he could see Mark, he could see his shirt was soaked in blood, as was a part of his chin, which he had apparently tried to wash up.

Jeremy took a step closer reaching towards him, possibly to poke the blood, but with a surprisingly swift movement, Mark slapped his hand away.

"Did you have to turn that light on? Put it out!"

Jeremy didn't oblige.

"What is going on? Did you kill a dog? Where were you?"

With a slightly softer voice, he added:

"What's wrong?"

"You don't want to know."

Mark stood up slowly, holding his head. Now that Jeremy got a good look of him, he could see he looked like shit. More shit than usual, anyway, with his hair tussled, tie missing, and looking sickly pale.

Jeremy smiled:

"Come on, you can't say that. Once you say that, I just _have _to know. That's like, the worst thing you can say to stop someone asking questions. And now that I know something is wrong."

he moved between Mark and the door, blocking the exit:

"I'm not letting you go before you tell me what it is."

"Jez, you _really_ should have let it go."

The look he gave his mate was filled with regret, and other emotions that Jeremy wasn't expecting, and more importantly, didn't know how to deal with. But he was talking, this was good.

"Well, maybe, but we both know you are going to tell me what I want to know. Eventually."

Mark averted his gaze:

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Come on, that's just more of the kind of stuff that's making me really curious. Now, tell me why you are covered in dog-blood. Don't spare me any gory details of your crime-spree."

Mark flinched. Maybe he was onto something here. Oh, God, what if Mark was trying to become a serial killer? Didn't they usually start with animals? He had kicked a dog to death that one time, and found out he liked it. And then there had been the time he had helped Jeremy hide the corpse of a dog. So there actually had been a certain pattern of dog-killing. And now the whole thing with the divorce had gotten to him because he had kept it all bottled up, and not gone and burned a part of Sophie's house down like a normal person would have done. Or at least posted some dog-shit to her.

This probably was how Hannibal Lecter started.

His thought-processes were interrupted by Mark's resignated sigh.

"I ate it."

"Wot?"

"I ate the dog."

"Was it some Korean thing?"

"Jez, that's racist. And no. It wasn't. And I didn't eat the whole dog. I just drank its blood. Jez, this is going to sound a bit weird, but I _think_, sort of, that I am a vampire."

Jeremy stared at him. So, not a serial killer, but maybe close. Weren't they usually mental anyway, and killed people because they thought they were monsters or something?

In any case, he didn't want to annoy the potential murderer. And maybe it wasn't _that _kind of vampirism. Yeah, he would give him the benefit of the doubt, that was what you did when your mate went on mad killing-sprees.

"What, like a goth? Have you become a goth?"

Mark shook his head:

"No, I'm talking proper vampire. Undead of the night, bloodsucking creatures that sleep in their coffins during the day and roam the streets during the night to seek prey."

"Pfft, you are not a vampire."

"I so am! Okay, I'm not too sure of what I am, exactly, and since no-one bothered to come looking for me to discover my dead body lying in the back alley, thanks, by the way, I wasn't actually buried, so I don't actually have a coffin either."

He paused.

"Although, I suppose it was good I wasn't buried alive or anything, or half-alive or undead, I don't know, this is all very confusing for me."

Jeremy tried to collect his thoughts.

"So, you are saying, that you are a proper, supernatural, vampire?"

"Yes"

"No you're not. If you are, prove it."

"What do you mean, prove it?"

"Show me your teeth or something. Turn into a bat."

"I can't show you my teeth, they sort of only come out when- and I can't turn into a bat! Can I?"

Jeremy took a step closer, towering over Mark, who sank into the corner:

"I don't know. You're the bloodsucker, you tell me!"

Now they were quite close, and Jeremy could see even better how sickly Mark was looking. Maybe he was really ill, did he have a fever or something? Maybe he had been taking drugs, that would explain this. He'd probably be just the kind of person that was featured in after-school specials, the kind who lost his mind and did horrible things to dogs because of a bad trip and peer-pressure.

"Jez, you _really _shouldn't come closer"

There was a certain edge to Marks voice that sounded so unlike him it made Jeremy stop in his tracks. He looked to his eyes.

All he could think of was how there was something wrong with Marks eyes, and before Jeremy knew what was going on, he was pinned against the wall.

He tried to wriggle free, but found himself pushed against the wall with surprising strength. By _Mark. _He couldn't do that! He couldn't beat Jeremy up!

Jeremy was vaguely aware of the piercing pain on his neck, but it was all over-shadowed by the panic of being so helpless and paralyzed with fear, pinned against the toilet wall.

He tried to yell, but only managed a slight gurgle. He tried to kick Mark in the balls, but apparently his legs weren't listening to his brain anymore, and the best he could do was a slight twitch.

And then he lost consciousness.

* * *

Jeremy awoke to a darkened room.

He was laying on his bed, in a room illuminated only by the light coming from the hall. He had been dreaming, hadn't he? About what? It had been about Mark, hadn't it? Why was he feeling so weak? And was there something strangling him?

He lifted, with great difficulty, as it felt like all power had fled from his limbs, his hand to his neck.

And found duct tape.

"Jez? Are you all right? You are all right, aren't you? I swear, if you didn't come around in an hour, I would have called an ambulance."

"Mark?" Jeremy managed to croak out. "Did you put duct tape around my neck?"

He managed to turn his head enough to see his flat-mate sitting on the other side of the room, partly in the shadows. His room. Why was he in his room? He didn't think he had fainted in his room.

And hadn't there been something wrong with Mark? Jeremy squinted, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the limited light. Apparently while he had been out Mark had taken the time to change his clothes. Why had he had to change his clothes in the first place? There was something he should remember…

Mark shuffled nervously:

"I had to do something to stop the flow of blood. There was blood everywhere. Your blood, it was" he licked his lips "Horrible".

"Wot? How did I hurt my neck?"

"You don't remember?" Mark looked hopeful, and for a moment Jeremy wanted to feign ignorance. But this was all way too weird to ignore.

"You pushed me against a wall."

"Um, yes."

"And you were claiming to be a vampire."

"Eh-"

"Did you BIT me?"

"Bite you. Did I bite, yes, I did. I'm sorry, listen I _told _you not to come any closer, and you smelt so _good _and I was so hungry, and I was afraid I killed you, but it turns out I didn't. Yay?"

"Not yay! Why did you bite me? And what you mean 'smelt good'?"

Another sigh. Mark was acting like Jeremy was being slow and unreasonable, and this whole thing was just a normal part of their daily routine.

"I thought I explained the whole 'I'm a vampire" bit already. I hadn't eaten for, like a week, except for the dog, that was sort of small and not very tasty, and you were standing right there, and for a moment you looked a whole lot like _food_."

"Well, thanks!"

They sat in a silence for a while. Or Mark sat, staring at the floor. Jeremy made a half-hearted effort to get up, but found the whole sitting-thing a bit out of his reach for the moment, and resolved to lie on his back. Eventually Jeremy broke the silence.

"So... Am I a vampire now too?"

"I don't think so. I don't think I drank enough, and I wouldn't even know if just biting someone was enough. But you never stopped breathing. I think you're okay."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

Another silence.

"So, let's say you are a vampire. How did you become one?"


	2. A problem with public transportation

It had all started with a problem with public transportation, and when Mark would look back to these events, that was the The Mistake he had made. Sure, there had been other mistakes on the way, but they had all seemed like the natural result of this one, and this one was the one he had been regretting as soon as it had happened.

Everything that came after was so weird and unexpected it couldn't have been expected of him to know how to act. But that first mistake was something completely avoidable, a small, common mistake that wouldn't have even slowed down most people. _Most_ people managed to ruin their lives with big stupid mistakes. While even Marks mistakes were small and seemingly inconsequential. Until they grew like a snowball, rolling down the hill, picking up other small mistakes along the way, until they grew into a one huge catastrophe.

He had been working late, and was worried he'd miss the last bus. So when he saw the bus on the stop, he ran to it, frantically waving his suitcase. For a moment he thought he was too late, but the driver saw him running and flailing, and stopped, re-opening the bus doors.

And at that moment Mark noticed it was the wrong bus. Nevertheless, he stepped in, thanking the driver.

He cursed inwardly. He should have just told the driver he was mistaken and that wasn't the bus he wanted, but he had panicked, and now it was too late. He wondered what was the minimal distance he should travel before dropping off, so as not to seem like he had made a mistake.

Why this particular time did the driver had to see him and stop? There had been countless times when he had missed the bus by a few seconds, and the driver hadn't noticed him, or probably they had, but just felt like making his life miserable. That's what the bus drivers did.

Mark wondered if being a bus driver was a profession that attracted dickheads, or if it was the job that turned people into that. Except for this one nice driver. Who just happened to cross his path this one time when he would have preferred a tosser.

Figuring three stops was long enough, he quickly got out.

And found himself on a dark street corner.

On second thought, he should have ridden the bus to some busy place where he could get his bearings and get back on the right route. But now the bus-doors closed behind him, and the bus started again.

For a fraction of a second, Mark thought of turning back, but even if the driver stopped for him, again, he'd end up looking twice the weirdo. Maybe he should mention he was new there, but this was close to the office, so there probably were people in that bus who had seen him before.

Besides, running after the bus had been what got him into this trouble in the first place.

None of the buses that stopped there, according the schedule posted on the bus shelter, seemed familiar. But it wasn't too far from where he had gotten in the bus, which was familiar ground. And this area was maybe not that well lit, but he could see better lighted areas nearby.

Actually, if he stayed on this stop, he was easily seen, and that was just the kind of sight that attracted hooligans, he was at a disadvantage here.

He started walking back the way he had come. The bus ride hadn't been that long.

Nothing to fear in the darkness, if you didn't see them, they didn't see you. Darkness protected you, yes, that was it. And it wasn't like he was middle of nowhere, this was middle of the city, if some less populated area.

Nothing to fear.

And there were people around, in fact he could see a group of people coming towards him. Noisy people. Oh God, they looked like a gang! And the noises they made were just the kind of noises drunken people made! He had been wrong, there was _a lot _to fear, gangs of drunken mobsters roaming the streets, looking for people just like him to mug and beat and worse!

Should he run? But that would show he was afraid, and even if they hadn't noticed him yet, or for some reason were the kinds of drugged lunatics who _didn't_ maim decent people on dark alleys for fun, running away would attract their attention and they might decide to hunt him for sport.

What to do?

Maybe he should just ignore them and walk briskly past them, although they were taking the whole sidewalk, and he'd have to cross on the street…

Or, he could slip into this small dark alley.

Yeah, slip right past them. Hide in the shadows.

He did so, stumbling to the dark. But it wasn't pitch-black, so his eyes adjusted, and he could make out the vague shapes of the alley. He stepped into something, possibly a puddle of water, and hesitated. But, deciding that ruined shoes were a cheap price to pay in this case, Mark staggered forward.

Damn it, the alley was a dead end. It looked like a back entrance to somewhere, and based on his sense of smell, the lumpy shapes he was seeing around him were piles of rubbish.

He took a step towards the wall, as close as he could, without actually risking touching it.

And held his breath.

And the gang actually passed him, without even slowing down!

Yeah, he had made the darkness to work _for_ him! Like a ninja.

"Got a light?"

Mark could swear he jumped into the air.

He turned, stumbling to the wall (great, now his coat was probably ruined as well), and almost fell over.

He had been so focused on the gang that he had somehow missed this girl. Where had she come from? Had she been on the alley the whole time? Probably, as it was a dead end.

"No", he managed to mumble.

_Calm down, Corrigan, _he reminded himself. _She's just a girl._

He took another look, trying to estimate his chances if it turned into a fight.

Even though he had initially thought she was a kid, he estimated she was probably older. Maybe a teenager, or on her early twenties, although it was difficult to tell. But very skinny and petite, almost fragile-looking.

Yeah, he could take her. In a fight. If it came to that.

The girl took a step closer, and instinctively, Mark took a step back.

"I don't have a light!"

Deciding that had sounded a bit desperate, he added:

"And kids your age shouldn't smoke anyway."

That's right, show her who was the adult here. Who was the authority figure she couldn't hope to intimidate. Not on her own, anyway, but it was possible she had backup coming, so just in case he should leave.

The girl took another step towards him, smiling.

There was something very unnerving about that smile, but Mark couldn't make out in the limited light what, exactly.

He couldn't keep backing like that, he was bound to fall over.

Trying not to completely turn his back on her, Mark stepped towards the alleyway, nervously returning the smile.

And then there was pain.

She had hit him. Probably, it had been fast, and it was difficult to see in the dark. But _something _had hit him on his jaw. And he could see the girl moving towards him again, and there was something strangling him, it looked like the girl was holding him by the throat with one hand, but surely that wasn't possible?

The back of his head erupted in pain, hitting against the brick wall. Mark tried to shield himself somehow with the suitcase, but that wasn't really helping.

And suddenly the girl was on top of him. Mark managed to pull his suitcase to cover his torso, maybe its sharp edges would hurt her as much as they did him.

The girl reached for his throat.

What if this was a strategy prostitutes used? Forcibly serviced men on dark alleys, and then made them pay for it? Or worse, what if she was actually underage, and this was all a part of some nefarious plot to frame him as a pedo, and then they would blackmail him-

The wall hit his head again. Or maybe it was the girl, he wasn't certain what was going on anymore.

His last thought was that if he would just lie still and not fight back maybe it would all be over soon and he'd escape at least with his life. Yes, just closing his eyes and letting things happen sounded pretty good…

* * *

Mark woke to a horrible smell.

He tried to stand up, but found it more difficult than usual. He felt mild throbbing pain all over his body, especially his head, but simultaneously there was an odd numbness.

But if his other senses seemed dulled, the stink everywhere around him assaulted him with a horrid force. Holding his breath, he pushed the garbage bag off of him.

It all started to come back to him.

She had beaten him up, and left him for dead under a pile of rubbish.

And his suitcase was gone. She had probably nicked it. But he still had his keys, and his wallet and mobile, they had been in his pocket. Although his phone had either ran out of battery or broken.

All they had gotten were some papers from his work. And the joy of beating him up.

God, his head hurt.

And he reeked, and was wet.

Mark stumbled unsteadily out of the alley.

How long had he been out? It was still dark.

He felt like crap, he needed to get home. Or to the police? No, home first, he should clean up first. If he went to the station smelling like shit (literally, he was pretty sure some of that wetness in his pants was his shit) they would only think he was a crazy homeless person.

He stumbled forward. It felt like his whole body had fallen asleep, but forcing himself to walk managed to get some feeling to his legs.

Somehow he got back to his flat, certain he had gotten bad looks on the way and that everyone thought he was a crazy homeless man using public transport without paying. If he had his suitcase they wouldn't think he was homeless. They'd realise he was a respectable member of society who just had been in an accident.

Luckily Jeremy wasn't in, Mark didn't feel like dealing with anyone right now. Finally in the safety of his room, he passed out on the floor, not wanting to dirty his bed and just way too exhausted to clean up.

* * *

He woke up after an unspecified time, still smelling like shit, but feeling a bit better.

There was still pain, especially around his joints, and he felt numb, but also a bit elated, like he was slightly buzzed.

He made his way to the bathroom.

But had the light always been so bright? It hurt his eyes.

It seemed like his coat was beyond any help. Still, maybe it could be cleaned up. He dropped all the soiled clothing on a heap on the floor.

After the shower he felt a lot better, although still very weird. For one, his sense of touch seemed dulled, and he couldn't exactly tell if the water was cold or not. And there was something even stranger going on with his body, but he couldn't exactly put his finger on it. Still, he didn't feel as sick anymore, it was probably just a flu.

Some horrible mutant flu that was most likely slowly killing him. He got a plastic bag, and started going through the pile of clothes. The shirt could most likely be salvaged. Pants and socks no, but they could be sacrificed.

He checked his phone. At least it had just run out of juice and seemed to be working now. He checked to see the time.

And realised it was early Tuesday morning. It had been Friday when he had left work. He had just assumed it was still the same night, since it was still dark outside.

But had he been out, lying on the alley for the whole weekend? Or had he been lying unconscious on his floor that long?

Damn it, he had missed a day of work. And no one had come to look for him. Or maybe they had. And he had just lain on the alley covered by stinking rubbish.

He felt like he should complain to someone. Surely it was against some regulations not to clean up your alleys for days, so that unconscious human bodies went totally unnoticed?

He sent a message to work, telling them he was sick, and couldn't have come to work. Hopefully he could get some sleep before morning, and shake off whatever what illness he had before the next day.

"Jeremy!"

No answer. He hadn't probably even noticed Mark had been missing. Probably partying somewhere, while Mark was working and getting lost and being assaulted in a probably non-sexual way and almost dying.

Wanker.

He walked to the kitchen, since if he hadn't been eating for days, he should feel starving.

Should, but the thought of food was making him slightly nauseous.

Still, he should get something to eat. He made some toast.

Mark stared at the toast. It didn't look appetizing in the slightest. He took a bite. And spit it out. It tasted horrid.

He was actually feeling more thirsty, he could get water down, and forced himself to eat the pieces of bread.

And so he found himself gagging on the toilet, throwing up everything he had managed to eat. And apparently because just spewing stuff out of one end wasn't enough, there was pain in his stomach, accompanied by a gurgling noise in his gut.

He spent what felt like hours on the toilet, but after his body had done its best to spew his innards out from both ends of the digestive system, he felt better.

Although it was very alarming he was throwing up blood. And teeth. One tooth fell in the toilet, but the other one Mark managed to spit out on his palm. Maybe the dentist could reattach it? Assuming he wasn't falling apart due to some weird plague.

He did his best cleaning up, flushing the toilet (he figured he could do without one tooth) and washing his face.

He had better check out what teeth he had missed, and how ill he looked, exactly. He would probably have to go to the hospital, but what if it was something he had caught on that alley? Actually, what were the chances that it _wasn't_?

There would be questions, maybe he could claim he had been attacked by a group of huge gangsters-

But, as he looked in the mirror, all his worries were momentarily pushed back by what he saw.

Or rather, what he _didn't _see.

He brought his hand to the mirror. There was no reflection.


	3. The kind of thing free press exists for

Mark stared at the mirror.

This wasn't a thing that happened. It just wasn't.

Was it an optical illusion?

This was a practical joke, it must be, reflections weren't actual things, you couldn't steal them, or accidentally lose them.

Deciding it was far more likely there was something fishy going on with the mirror than his reflection, Mark went to the other mirror in the hall.

Nothing there either. Oh, he could see the hall, and things that were _behind him_.

This must have been some kind of elaborate practical joke. Yeah, someone had replaced the mirrors with screens that were hooked to hidden cameras somehow and on a feedback loop showing empty rooms.

He bet Jeremy was in on it.

"Yeah, got me there for a moment, but I'm onto you now, really funny!"

He yelled at no-one particular. And then it hit him. The thing that had been wrong with him.

He didn't breath anymore. Oh, he did when he paid attention to it, like when he was trying to smell something, or talking, but when he didn't think about it, it didn't happen. Breathing just was one of those things that were on the background. Usually it just happened, you didn't have to think about it, and in fact you had to make a conscious effort _not_ to breath.

The world had just stopped making sense.

Mark stood in the hall in his towelling robe, staring at the mirror, holding his breath and trying not to think about what was happening. Maybe he had been poisoned. There were some fish that made you appear dead. But you generally didn't walk around after being poisoned. As far as Mark knew, you just appeared dead. Not _un_dead-

He stopped right there. He wasn't- that kind of a thing wasn't happening. And he wasn't going to think it was. Because if he articulated it in his mind, if he for a moment suspected what he was almost suspecting, _they _would win. Mark wasn't certain who _they _were, possibly the crew of some insane new reality-tv programme.

Where they stalked some poor sap and convinced him he was a vampire.

Shit, he thought of it!

It was okay, he had just thought about thinking it. _They _hadn't gotten him yet.

But he had been decidedly NOT breathing for at least five minutes, and didn't feel any need to.

This just wasn't something that happened. Not in real life.

There were things that happened, things that were very unlikely, and things that DIDN'T HAPPEN, because the world was not an insane place.

Or maybe this was an actual thing. Maybe it was common knowledge that vampires existed.

No, that was stupid.

Maybe it was something just some people knew about.

Maybe vampires were a minority group in Britain. Maybe you just couldn't tell, since how often did you notice the reflections of other people anyway? Maybe the country was run by vampires.

But surely _someone _would have noticed? And asked questions. This was the kind of thing free press existed for.

Paxman had never grilled Michael Howard about whether or not he was a vampire. Maybe 'vampire' was a racist term or something, maybe they preferred to be called 'vamps' or 'undead'-

No, he was doing it! He couldn't just start thinking this was real!

He had just lost his reflection and didn't breathe anymore. Maybe all of his autonomic nervous system had just given up, and from now he'd have to think about doing all the breathing and digestion. Maybe that was why he had been throwing up, he hadn't thought about digesting the food enough. And his teeth-

Instinctively he looked in the mirror, but when it hadn't started behaving like normal laws of universe dictated, Mark tried to feel with his fingers what teeth he had actually lost.

He wasn't certain, but they _might _have been his two upper canines. But wasn't that backwards? If he was a vampire (which he was NOT) why would he lose teeth?

But why would any of this make sense or follow rules?

Rules.

He needed to know what the rules were. Even if he wasn't a vampire, there was _something _wrong with him. And if he could establish _what _exactly was wrong with him, it would all be better. Marginally.

What other things were there?

Sunlight?

No, it was still the middle of the night.

Crosses? Holy water?

No chance of finding the latter, but he could try the former.

He sat on the sofa, pulling out an ark of paper and some biros. He noted he didn't need to put the light on to see. All the colours were washed out, and the world looked almost black and white. But he could definitely see.

That was pretty damning evidence.

He drew a cross.

He poked it. No, wasn't burning him. Was he feeling repelled by it? Even a little bit.

He stared at the cross.

Maybe you had to be Christian for it to work?

Figuring he might as well try other religions (maybe this was in fact the way to find out which religion was true? The one Mark Corrigan recoils away in horror from), Mark drew the Star of David.

No result.

What did the Muslims worship? There was the moon, right?

Nothing.

He tried a pentagram, a swastika (it was a religious symbol of some cults in Asia) and a Buddha, although due to his drawing skills it ended up looking more like a scone with eyes.

No burning or being repelled. Or maybe he just wasn't doing it right?

Well, in any case, that was a result. Of some kind.

He was feeling tired. Dead tired. No, not that. Just normal tired.

But he just didn't feel like dealing with any of this right now.

He barely had the energy to change into his pyjamas and slip in bed.

Maybe he could just sleep it off.

Although nothing ever was that simple, was it? Not for him.

* * *

When Mark stirred from his dreamless sleep, there was the blissful moment where he didn't remember what was wrong. He did remember that _something _was wrong, but that was pretty much the standard with his life.

But, of course, it all came back. And as he lay there he became more and more convinced it was all true.

He closed his eyes, trying to listen to his heartbeat. Could he feel his heart beating? He didn't feel warm in his bed, under the covers. Not that he felt cold either, it was just neither.

He listened to the sounds of the flat. He could hear a car outside, some mumbled talking, someone, probably Jeremy, moving in the room next to his. It hadn't been like that before. He had been kept awake by Jeremy or his neighbours before, but his sense of hearing had never been this acute.

He could smell much better too. He could smell the carpet. It smelled dirty. A while back he had spilled coffee on it and gotten most of it off, but now he could smell it. Among to all kinds of nasty smells that were most likely the result of him collapsing on the floor after dragging himself away from the alleyway.

He couldn't just lie in bed all day doing long-distance smelling. Or all night, as his clock told him, it was 9pm. And he had just woken up. Was this going to be his rhythm from now on? Sleeping through the days and being awake at night?

How would he fit this all with his job?

He had already missed two days of work.

Maybe he could work from home somehow?

What was he going to do?

Mark got up and went to the bathroom. There he noticed he didn't actually need to go. And the mirror was reminding him of his situation, taunting him as much as an inanimate object could.

Feeling like he needed to do something, he washed his face. Did he look normal? As far as he could tell, his facial features were unchanged, but if his eyes were all demonic or something, he would have no way of telling. He thought he looked pale, but not inhumanely so judging by looking at his arms.

The girl had looked human.

He should find her. Make her take responsibility for infecting him with this stuff. That was really rude of her, just taking what she wanted from him and abandoning him to face all this weirdness alone.

He was so deep in his thoughts he almost ran into Jeremy when coming out of the bathroom.

Panicking, Mark slipped to his room, avoiding eye contact, and closed the door.

Why was he hiding? Maybe Jeremy would know about this stuff. No, better to-

He could hear Jeremy moving in the hall. He could _smell _him, and that was just something he'd just rather not think about right then.

He would have to know what sunlight did to him. That was important to know, so he would know if he had any hope of having a normal life again. Somewhat normal. For that, he needed to wait for the morning.

In the meanwhile, he could do some research.

He turned his computer on and googled 'vampire'.

_Vampires are mythological or folkloric beings who subsist by feeding on the life essence (generally in the form of blood) of living creatures._

He read up on vampires on Wikipedia for a while. At least he wasn't a Chinese hopping vampire. That would have been even more embarrassing.

There were so many different kinds of vampires in folklore and Hollywood fiction, how was he supposed to figure out what the truth behind the legends were before he accidentally stumbled in them and found out pumpkins or crossroads or lack of pumpkins could kill him now?

And he wasn't even certain if he needed to, well, _feed_.

He hadn't been eating anything for days now. Or at least managed to keep anything down.

He was feeling a bit hungry. In a different way from normal hunger. It was more like an all-encompassing physical need. And he was _so _tired.

He tried typing 'Are vampires real?'

But all search results he got were either badly spelled messes or dismissive.

He tried reading a book, but found it hard to concentrate on Rommel's campaign in North Africa.

If he did have to drink blood, did it have to be human?

And if it did, where would he get it? Could he find other vampires to ask them all this stuff?

Mark noted he had decided to tentatively accept he was a vampire. Maybe not like in books and movies, not like Dracula, but maybe it was some real disorder that made you allergic to mirrors, and breathing optional.

If he did have to bite people, though, could he do it? That didn't sound very hygienic.

Maybe he could talk Dobby into it. Maybe she would think it was romantic.

_Hi, I just popped in to tell you I am dead now. Would you fancy a romp? It would probably be like shagging a corpse, assuming I even were able to get it up, and it would involve me trying to eat a part of you. It would be like mixing food and sex in a totally new way._

That sounded horrible even in his mind, and based on his experience, things he thought to say to women always came out sounding worse than they did in his head. Even when they didn't involve cannibalism.

He waited for Jeremy to leave, to do who-knew-what, and went on to close all the curtains and blinds. Just in case sunlight was fatal to him now.

He left the blinds in his room partly open, and sat down to wait what would happen.

It started to become lighter.

And as the night gave way to dawn he started to feel queasy. Finally he closed the blinds, blocking any light.

He would wait until the sun had properly risen, and then quickly step into it. Partly.

7 am. Sun should be up.

_Here's hoping this won't reduce me into a pile of dust._

Mark slipped his hand through the blinds. And jumped back when the sun hit his skin.

_Fuck, that hurt!_

It felt like his hand was burning but it didn't look like it was actually on fire. Closing his eyes, he pushed his arm in the sun again.

He managed to count to twelve before the pain became unbearable and he was certain his flesh was on fire.

He rushed to the bathroom, putting his arm in the cool water.

It felt better. Mark inspected his arm.

It looked like the most horrible burn he had ever seen on telly. His arm looked all red and black and sickening.

So, the sunlight caused him 3rd degree burns. Achieving normalcy in his life had just gotten much more difficult.

* * *

**A/N**

**As funny (and sadistic) as giving Mark as many weaknesses as possible would have been, I didn't feel like dealing with the theological implications of religious symbols having an effect on vampires. I suppose if the vampire was religious and believed in it, it might work, though.**


	4. Definitely not a pedo

Another night, new challenges.

Mark got up.

Today he would actually leave the flat.

To do what, he wasn't sure. But today, progress would be made.

He ran his tongue over his new teeth while looking for his toothbrush.

They had erupted during the night. Or actually day, when he had been sleeping. The new canines didn't feel longer than the other teeth, but they certainly felt shaper. He thought about them while washing his teeth.

Would he actually have to-

Well, do vampire stuff.

_Bite _people.

No need to get ahead of himself, he didn't know anything yet. Maybe it was all a myth. Racist anti-vampire propaganda. Maybe they actually ate mostly fish, or something. He didn't know for sure.

Just in case he drank as much water as he could. It seemed to stay down. And if he was filled with water, he was less likely to go mad with blood-thirst. Hopefully.

Could he go to the blood bank? Would that work? Presumably they didn't give blood to just anyone, you probably had to have some credentials. Maybe he could find a butcher, buy some pig-blood and bake it, maybe make some soup, surely he couldn't just drink raw blood, that was bound to be full of bacteria and germs.

Mark stopped, stood still and listened. It seemed like Jez wasn't in. That was probably just a good thing.

Mark felt his chin. It seemed like he didn't need to shave. Which was odd, since he thought that a beard was supposed to grow even after death. But it was good, since he couldn't use the mirror anymore. But he checked just in case.

Still no reflection.

At least his arm didn't hurt anymore. It looked like it was healing, so that was a small positive. In the sea of negative horribleness.

On the up side, he could heal from horrible burns quickly.

On the down side, exposure to sunlight caused horrible burns.

He put on the suit and his tie. Somehow that made him feel better.

More normal. Not that he had ever felt completely normal, but ever since his life had plunged straight into Twilight Zone, some resemblance of normalcy was the best he could hope for.

After some thought he decided against wearing his own coat and instead borrow one of Jez's. Just in case he'd end up being chased by an angry mob.

He went through the closet, trying to pick the least smelly one.

Mark had to admit, the heightened sense of smell was interesting, at least. When he tried, he could pick up distinctly different scents from the clothing.

He briefly wondered how much of it was just general human-smell, and how much distinctly Jeremy.

Now that he thought about it, what he was doing was kinda weird. But useful. Once he would be able to identify what all these smells were, he could get so much information on people without them ever realizing.

He hoped he couldn't get high just via smelling Jeremy's clothes, though.

Eventually he picked a grey hoodie he found behind the laundry basket. At least its smells were mostly faded, plus he could pull the hood up if he had to hide his face.

Slowly, he opened the flat door and peered out. He could hear someone coming up the stairs.

The old lady that lived in the building somewhere.

Mark slipped out, closing the door behind him. "Hi!"

The woman stopped, giving him an uncertain smile.

Why had he talked to her? Actually, this was a good opportunity to reach out to humanity. Reassure himself that he was still capable of relatively normal human interaction.

"It is a nice day, isn't it?" He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

If he looked strange or did something weird and she noticed he could always claim she was mistaken and crazy with Alzheimer's.

"Yes, yes it is." A slight smile. He had achieved a polite smile.

Should he try her? She was old, and probably wouldn't put up much of a fight.

Did he want to bite her, though?

Did he want to drink her blood, bite into her wrinkly neck…

Mark stared.

The woman was going on about something, people probably never talked to her and all her friends were dead, so she was glad to have someone show some interest in her opinion of the niceness of the day. Mark had stopped listening a while ago, all his attention focused on her neck, the neck popping up and down as she spoke. He could smell her, her old woman smell, and under that smell of something very inviting…

He was vaguely aware he had moved closer. He could hear her heart beating now-

And there was a weird tingling in his mouth that jolted him awake.

He couldn't bite her! That was wrong! And this was his own apartment building, he would get caught, unless he killed her and dragged her corpse to somewhere it would never be found-

He slapped his hand over his mouth, covering it.

No, he'd have to get away now. Who knew how stupid he looked, some weird things going on with his teeth.

"Fshee you later", he managed to get out, before running out, leaving her behind.

So now his canines had decided to go completely vampiry.

Why had he ran out? He should have gone back in, he couldn't go out looking like; whatever it was he looked like. His teeth felt huge. He probably looked like a walrus.

He stared in the corner.

They had come out, maybe they could go back in?

He tried slightly nudging them. Maybe he should try to think things that didn't remind him of blood? Something that would make him lose his appetite.

He stared at the wall. Walls. Architecture. Castles. Nothing worth biting there. Toast. Throwing up. The smell of his carpet.

Slowly, he could feel them retracting, until they didn't feel much longer than his other teeth.

This was a problem, though.

What if he had unwanted teeth-boners every time he talked to a human? Just the thought made his teeth tingle again.

He would have to get something to eat.

He started walking, aimlessly.

Looking at people. Were all those other people just food to him now? Was that how he felt?

Wasn't it cannibalism? Or didn't it count? What if he actually was sick and imagining everything? Although he was reasonably certain that if he had finally snapped and gone insane his subconscious wouldn't have tried to convince him that he was a vampire. He would have more likely got it into his head that he was Rommel or something like that. Lead an invisible army against ducks in the park wearing only pants.

He saw a group of kids talking.

Maybe he should try a kid? They were smaller than adults, even he could probably overpower one. No, that was even more wrong than doing it to an adult. He definitely wasn't a pedo.

Was eating a child worse than raping one or was it the other way around?

No, definitely not a kid. They had less blood, he would more easily kill them. And get less to eat. But maybe they tasted better. Fresher.

Shit, he could feel his teeth acting up again. He would probably have to think of something, he was feeling tired and weak.

Maybe he could try drinking milk. It was a bodily fluid. Maybe it would work, he could apparently still drink water.

He found himself walking towards the alley, and figured he might start from there, just as well.

Maybe that would be the best course of action. Go back to where it all started. Maybe he'd run into the girl and he could make her tell him how this all worked and how you could survive living like this.

Maybe she didn't have it together either. She had been, after all, stalking people in a dark smelly alley, that didn't exactly scream 'well-functioning member of vampire society'. He'd think they'd have some organization, some system by which they got their food. Humans didn't have to go find a cow to butcher every time they wanted a hamburger.

Maybe that was just how she got her kicks. Maybe there was a well-organised vampire society with registers and forms you'd have to fill. Maybe he had just slipped through the system, maybe normally they had application processes and orientation programs for new recruits where they got told all the important stuff.

Mark hoped vampires weren't just some anarchists who did whatever they pleased. That thought made him feel incredibly lonely.

He stood middle of the alley.

It didn't look half as scary now. Although that had mostly to do with how he could see in the dark now. If there were some gang-members, he could hear them well in advance and hide in the shadows much easier. But on the other hand he still had no idea what other weaknesses he had. Maybe puddles could kill him now. Water did kill vampires in some stories, although it usually had to be running water, or holy. But it would be just his luck to be turned into something that got killed by absolutely everything.

He kept standing.

So, this was it? This was the place where his life had completely changed.

It felt somehow insulting.

There hadn't even been a funeral for him. He guessed it was easier this way, since he'd still have his job, if he managed to somehow continue doing it and if he wasn't fired for not coming to work. And he'd still have his flat. If he had been legally declared dead, he would have most likely lost it. And he would have had to make up some very good excuse for why he had returned from the dead. But at least all his friends and family would have _known _he was dead, and they would have been sorry, and sad. Maybe his dad would have even cried at the funeral. Jeremy would have made some highly inappropriate but heartfelt speech that would have made everyone feel incredibly awkward. Then there would have been more crying.

But they hadn't even noticed he had been gone. They didn't know what he had gone through.

They thought everything was just normal. In their normal little world where people were born, grew up, fell in love, had children and died and stayed dead.

Well, fuck them!

He couldn't just spend the whole night standing there.

Maybe he should try doing some detective work.

He knocked on the door on the alley. It was possible the girl had come from there, maybe this was a place where vampires hanged out.

"Hello?"

The door was opened by a woman Mark estimated to be in her forties.

"Yes?"

She likely wasn't a vampire, Mark could tell from her smell. Still, it was the best lead he had.

"I'm terribly sorry, but have you seen an acquaintance of mine? A girl about this tall, pale, petite?"

He gestured, trying to recall how tall she had been.

"She is a cousin of mine", he hurried to add, seeing the suspicious look on her face.

"No, sorry."

She started to close the door.

"Wait!"

She stopped.

"Could I come in? To use the phone? I lost her, and she had my phone, and I'm really worried about her, since it's so dark."

The woman looked dubious.

Mark looked her in the eye, trying to look trustworthy. As well as try to hypnotize her, just in case he had any such powers.

_Let me in. Letmein. I'm not a suspicious person. You don't need to see my identification._

"Well, okay."

Yes, he had done it. Although, he was almost certain it had less to do with any vampire-mind tricks, and more with his general trustworthiness. And the fact that he presumably looked too ill and weak to pose any real threat.

Well, he was in. It looked like it was the back door entrance for some video-rental-place.

"Here."

Mark stared at the cellphone he was offered.

"You wanted to use the phone?"

"Ah, yes, thanks."

He took the phone. Great, now he'd have to call someone. He turned around, and fiddled with the phone, pretending to make a call.

"Hello? This is-"

Quickly, he had to think for an alias.

"Jeremy. Yes, it's me, I just wanted to call to tell you I lost Sophie."

He pretended to listen.

"Really? That's great!"

He closed the phone, and offered it back.

"Turns out she found her way back home."

She smiled. "That's good."

What was he going to do now? This had been a complete dead end.

He felt dizzy.

"Are you all right?"

She looked worried. Just how ill and abnormal did he look?

"I'm alright. Don't I look alright?"

"You look a bit ill. Maybe you should sit-"

She grabbed his arm, probably thinking he looked like he was going to fall down any minute.

In fact, that was more than likely. Mark was feeling like the world was going out of focus.

She was so close. Rest of the world seemed to stop mattering. And there was the overpowering need to-

Mark stepped towards her, aware his teeth were fully out. He'd have to act quickly, before she noticed.

He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her closer, and buried his fangs to her neck.

There was a huge rush when the first drops of blood hit his tongue. This was it, this was the thing. It was filling a need he hadn't even been fully aware of. It didn't just taste good, it was the best thing he had ever drank or eaten. All his doubts were just washed away. This was _right. _Everything would be all right, if he just had a bit more…

But there was so little of it. He sucked on the hole he had punctured on her neck, but there wasn't enough. She squirmed, and his teeth slipped. He wasn't getting _enough _of it, he was so hungry…

If she only stopped struggling-

He tried correcting his hold, but lost his grip. She elbowed him in the stomach, and they both fell on the floor.

And she screamed.

Mark jumped back, horrified of what he had done.

"Liften, I'm sfhorry"

This only incited more screaming.

And Mark bolted through the open door and fled.

And ran.

He kept running for a while, until he found himself in a park somewhere.

Only then he stopped. He did his best to lick the blood off his face, not wanting to waste a drop.

Had he just done that? Had he just attacked a total stranger? He could have killed her.

But he felt better. Stronger. And he had ran all the way here without stopping to catch his breath, which he didn't have anymore. And now he knew what it was like. He would have to do it again, properly this time. But he'd have to be more careful. Approach someone in the dark so they couldn't identify him.

Had he left his fingerprints on her phone? Did he leave fingerprints at all anymore? Who cared, he had done something vampire-like! And he needed more.

All his senses seemed hyper-sharpened, he was aware of the sounds and smells of the cars passing by, a couple making out in a car close by, someone walking unsteadily through the park…

He sneaked towards him. He smelled like booze and sweat. Probably homeless. Someone no one would miss…

Mark followed him in the shadows.

He could jump out, and grab him-

And then what?

Go for the throat?

But he was drunk! What if he got drunk too? Or high? Or got some weird blood-disease? The guy was probably a bum, he was probably full of all kinds of diseases.

Mark stopped.

What was he doing?


End file.
